


Paw Print

by Pi (Rhea)



Category: Wolf's Rain
Genre: M/M, Tattoos, kink bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-31
Updated: 2012-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-17 10:36:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhea/pseuds/Pi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU sort, post end-of-show, Toboe decides to get a tattoo, there's maybe something a little familiar about the tattoo artist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paw Print

**Author's Note:**

> Now with translation into Russian by StarSoul here: http://ficbook.net/readfic/1495510

Toboe's wanted a tattoo for a while. It's not a peer pressure thing because, mostly because he doesn't have many close friends. Some of the other kids at school have tattoos, but not many of them. Toboe doesn't want something big, or something flashy, just something, some mark that he's really here. Maybe it's stupid, the feeling Toboe often has like he should be somewhere else, like there's something he hasn't finished yet. It's one of the reasons Toboe tries so hard to learn about everything. Someday he's going to find it, that thing he can't quite remember and it's going to be important. He's going to be important. His grandmother had always encouraged his reading habit, smiling at his stacks of books, but she still clucked at him to go outside, to live. Toboe thinks she might have been right. He's been spending too much time focused inward, studying and reading, and wasting time on the internet. So Toboe's making changes.

He joins the soccer team. Even though he's uncoordinated, he has enough energy to run longer then the rest of them. Toboe's nothing if not stubborn and that kind of sticking power is good for more than just books. Hige, another junior and probably Toboe's closest friend, laughs at him, but it's not unkind.  
"I swear you could trip over your own two feet. What are you going to do when someone finally passes you the ball?"  
"I'm going to score a goal." Toboe huffs. He's known Hige since they were kids. They've lived on the same street since forever. Toboe went over to Hige's house to steal cookies and play on his gaming system. Toboe's grandmother had never been one for newfangled technologies. Toboe remembers her knitting by the fireside. She never had to coax much to get Toboe to sit with her and read to her. Toboe misses curling up by her feet, wrapped in the afghan she'd made and breathing old folk tales over the crackle of fire. Now Toboe lives in Hige's mom's extra room. It's nice because Hige's always around, and Hige's mother is kind. Toboe doesn't have any other family. He doesn't remember his parents, but he was always happy, growing up with just Granny. Sometimes he wonders if the missing thing has something to do with her death, but it was there before that too.

Mostly though, it's the dreams. Toboe's had them his whole life, slept to the feel of the snow crunching under his paws, and the scent of wind that told him where he was headed was just out of reach. In his dreams Toboe is searching, but he's not alone. Toboe can never see the pack that runs with him, but he can feel them at his side, just ahead, and just behind, the thunder of their feet against the ground propelling him onward through a nameless wasteland. Toboe's never told anyone about the dreams, not Hige, not Granny. He's looked into the meaning of dreams, and researched on wolves. He'd told Granny it was for a biology project, and Hige that he was researching for an online game. Hige had actually joined in, interest captivated by Toboe's massive stack of werewolf movies. Most of them were horrendous, worthy only for throwing popcorn at the screen. Toboe likes the national geographic DVDs better. He's spent more time than he would care to admit curled around his laptop watching wild wolves. There's something about the way the move, the way the wind blows their fur. It's like Toboe can feel that sensation, a change in the wind ruffling his hair. When he breathes in he can almost smell snow, or sometimes the acrid smell of desiel fuel and rotten garbage. It's not a smell Toboe has come across before. The streets around Hige's house are kept neat and clean. The metro they take to school is an electric bus. There's no reason for the way the smell tugs at Toboe. It makes him want to be careful, to look around corners. It makes him feel hungry, and alone, and he knows it from somewhere. 

And the dreams are getting worse. Maybe worse isn't the word for it, perhaps just more vivid. Toboe wants to tell someone, but Hige's distracted. There's a new girl in school. Toboe would have noticed her for the way her blue eyes stand out against her dark skin even if her name hadn't been so unusual. Blue seems just as intrigued by Hige and when Toboe's not resisting the urge to introduce his head to the lunch table at the way Hige's making a complete fool out himself mooning at her, he might agree it's kinda cute. But it doesn't leave Toboe with anyone to talk to. Which is probably how he's come to this conclusion. It's probably a bad idea. Toboe is probably going to regret it, when his skin is old and sagging, but the image has been hanging out his mind for weeks now. It was the one clear shape her remembers from his dreams: a paw print perfectly etched into snow. He knows the shape of it like it were his own fingerprint. Toboe's not an artist but he's sketched it, concentrating, repeating the motion until it's perfect. A signature, almost, the image in his mind coalesced into graphite on paper. It's in his back pocket now, along with his wallet and ID. Toboe takes a deep breath, and pushes the tattoo parlor door open. 

A bell tinkles as he walks in, strangely incongorous to the walls full of curling designs with thick black ink or cartoon bright colors. One wall hosts a sailor theme, another is covered in dragons and other mythical creatures. Toboe is a little surprised to see a unicorn among them. Not particularly manly, but then not only guys get tattoos.  
"Can I help you?" Toboe jumps at the deep voice. His eyes dart away from the wall and run smack into the guy looming behind the counter. Toboe swallows, mouth suddenly dry. He shouldn't be surpised that the guy working at a place like this would be intimidating. His hair is mostly buzzed short, a dark silver color like he's prematurely gray or found a very rare hair dye. His tank top barely comes down to his stomach, and the leather jacket overtop doesn't help, in fact it's ripped at the shoulder seams so the arms barely hang on. The open fabric exposes the bunch of truly impressive muscles. He doesn't seem to be tattooed, which is, again, surprising, but he's got a few ear piercings and a really gnarly scar in an X shape across his chest, just visible over the neckline of his really-not-covering-much tank top. Toboe clears his throat, slowly approaching the counter.  
"I, uh, want to get a tattoo?" He says. It shouldn't be a question. Toboe squares his shoulders. He strides up to the counter. "How much would that be? I don't want anything big, just a small one, on my wrist." Toboe gestures to the place as he talks. The guy's eyes catch on the bangle Toboe always wears on his right wrist. It's a big silver thing that looks like old-lady costume jewelry, which it is. His Granny had worn for as long as Toboe could remember. She didn't wear any other jewelry either, not necklaces or a wedding ring, or any other bracelet. Just this one. It had been the one thing Toboe had kept when they cleared out the house. His eyes and been too dry to cry anymore and his heart hurt too much to care, but clutching the bracelet close somehow made it all a little easier. Toboe narrows his eyes, daring the man to comment. He doesn't.  
"We have a minimum rate of 40 dollars, no matter how small. The price goes up by 30 for each additional hour following the first." The man says. "Do you want to schedule an appointment for today?" Toboe nods quickly. He pulls out his wallet and riffles inside for bills. He should have enough, if it's not more than an hour.  
"I want this. On my right wrist, over the pulse point." Toboe says and shoves his drawing across the counter. Thankfully it's not smudged. The man looks up from where he's typing at a computer hidden just under the counter. His eyes snag on the small paper square. Toboe waits but he doesn't say anything. The man just looks at him hard for a moment.  
"We have a time slot open in 15 minutes." he says. "Are you going to wait here?"  
"Uh, no," Toboe steps away from the counter and shoves his wallet back in his pocket. "I saw a coffee shop two doors down. I'll just go over there. I'll be back in 15. Wait," he turns back to the counter, "do you want to keep that till I get back or should I?" Toboe gestures to the paper. The man grabs it off the counter.  
"I'll see you in 15 minutes." He says, and looks back down at the computer, clearly dismissing Toboe. The bell jingles on his way out.

The cafe isn't crowded and Toboe orders an Italian soda because coffee gives him too much energy. Of course, sugar doesn't help much either. Toboe isn't feeling nerves, exactly, but there's something crawling under his skin. It makes his fingers tap arythmically against the arm of the comfortable chair he's holed up in. He feels like he's met the tattoo guy before. But he can't have, he'd remember a scar like that if he'd ever seen one before. Hell he'd remember the muscles too. Still, there's something about him. The way the brown of his skin stood warm against the charcoal gray of his tank top. The way the gray of his hair made Toboe think of gray wolves, of the Nat. Geo episode about lone wolves in the arctic, their shorter, harder lifespans. He sort of looks the type, maybe: with the ripped leather jacket and the glaring. How the tattoo parlor got so many customers or such good reviews with a guy like that growling about the front desk Toboe isn't sure. Of course, perhaps people who want to have grisly tattoos of bones, or thick black anchors or pin-up babes on their arms want the kind of place that offers angry tough guy tattoo artists. Absently, Toboe takes out a pen and scrawls the paw print on a napkin. He isn't doubting it. This is exactly what he wants. But, as his watch ticks towards the time to leave, he still feels jittery. 

The guy is apparently going to be his tattoo artist, too. At least he introduces himself to Toboe. Tattoo artists with ripped leather jackets are probably too cool to wear name tags. Toboe realizes he hasn't introduced himself either, even though the guy had to have written something down for his appointment. Toboe hopes it wasn't "idiot teenager". Toboe doesn't ask. Instead he says,  
"Nice to meet you Tsume," and offers his hand to shake like a reasonable adult. Tsume eyes it for a moment, but takes it in his own grasp. His grip is firm, which makes sense with all the muscles. His fingers are strong, and his hand encompasses Toboe's in a really distracting way.  
"Is this acceptable?" Tsume asks, and passes Toboe a clean sheet of paper with the pawprint dead center. Toboe scrutinizes it, looks for any slight differences. It's the same image, as clear as from his own hand.  
"Yes." Toboe nods.  
"Alright. You do realize this is permanent?" The guy asks, he's not quite glaring but Toboe doesn't shrink under the stare.  
"Yes, I do."  
Tsume shrugs, "Good. We'll be working here. Do you want to sit or lay down?"  
"How much will this hurt?" Toboe asks. He feels his face flush when his voice breaks over the words. He sounds young. "You know what, I think I'll just lay down, thank you." Toboe quickly stretches out on the table.  
"Turn your arm up." Tsume commands, snapping his gloves into place. "What colors do you want this in, just one?"  
"Yeah, um I guess... I was thinking sort of rust-brown. Like desert colors. Though black could work too." Tsume just grunts. A color pallet is suddenly floating over Toboe's head.  
"Uh, yeah. That one." he points to the square of brown-orange color. It reminds him of when Granny drove them to the Grand Canyon and he stared at scrub brush out the window for hours each way. The breeze had whipped through the car windows, hot and dry, but better than driving without air conditioning. Toboe had stuck his head out the window to take in the feel of the desert wind and Granny had yelled at him. It's that kind of color.  
"Okay." Tsume says and the color pallet disappears. 

Toboe holds very still. He isn't really sure what to expect. He had looked at the other girl in the shop as they passed, laid out on her stomach with an overly tattooed man working on something against her shoulder. She'd had her eyes closed but Toboe hadn't been able to tell what she was thinking or feeling from the quick glimpse. Another mechanical whirr starts up behind him. It's like the sound of a very tiny jack hammer. It makes Toboe want to wince. Makes him think of filing cavities at the dentist. Only, here there's no anesthetic. Toboe closes his eyes. And opens them again when he feels a cool moisture at his wrist. He can only see the top of Tsume's head from where he's concentrating on Toboe's wrist. Toboe can't see his wrist through Tsume's head. The air licks cold against his clean skin. Then, Toboe feels the first careful sweep of pen, marking out the shape. Toboe follows the line behind his eyes, tracing the shape over and over. Tsume's hand is steady, purposeful.  
"Is that acceptable?" he asks. Toboe looks down at his wrist. Nods. He looks up and Tsume's clearly waiting for a more definite answer.  
"Yes. That's perfect, actually." Toboe leans back down. The ceiling is white tiles. It's ordinary, nothing particular there to look at. The whirr starts again. Toboe thinks of wolves. Thinks of the snow under his paws. He thinks of running through the night towards dawn and fields of unseen flowers that smell like home.  
"Now hold still." Tsume warns, his voice a low growl. 

The first sting against his arm makes him jolt, but Tsume holds his arm tight in place. Toboe whimpers in his throat, clenches his eyes shut. He thinks of the alien purple and green of those imaginary flowers, thinks of chasing butterflies through them, of an idyllic blooming world, it's floral scent winding through his fur. The pain in his arm is growing to a firey burn. It jangles up to his elbow, hums there, as if trapped, unsure where to go. Toboe imagines running on four legs. The prints his paws would leave in the soft dirt beside a free flowing stream etch behind his eyelids. Behind Toboe's eyelids he sees a joyous scatter of paw prints, some bigger, some thinner, some long nailed and wide set, they dance around his own. Toboe almost wants to ask for all of them, he could ring his wrist, a bracelet for family, but that would be stupid. Toboe bites his lip against the pain, reaching for a distraction from the piercing hum trying to take over his brain. Toboe breathes slowly, steadily. He wants this. He isn't going to go around showing everyone, but he'll have it, there. He'll be able to press his thumb to his wrist and feel his heart beat, right underneath the print, like maybe it's living too. 

"Almost done." Tsume says. Toboe nods slightly, but he can't see Tsume's reaction. Instead, suddenly Tsume is there in the vision. But the tattoo artist isn't a man in ripped leather and a too-short tank top. He's a large gray wolf, the X scar still standing out harsh against his chest. He's bigger than Toboe, running beside him so that their sides touch when the knock against each other. Toboe knocks him back, giving as good as he gets and suddenly they're tumbling through the flowers, nipping and jumping like idiotic cubs and Toboe thinks this is paradise. The thought brings tears to his eyes but the whirring sound is gone, faded to just the girl on the far table.  
"Finished." Tsume says. Toboe leans up on one elbow to look. He has to wipe at his eyes a little to see clearly. It isn't from the pain. It's perfect. Toboe's breath catches in his throat.  
"I, uh," he can't find the words he wants to say. Instead Tsume cuts across him, voice tight.  
"Why the pawprint of a Red Wolf?" he asks. Toboe can't read anything from his closed face. Toboe opens his mouth and can't find the words to explain.  
He winds up answering lamely, "Because it's me." It's not an answer that makes sense, but it's the closest he can come. Somehow this is the right answer. Tsume's face softens, relaxing into something that's almost a smile. He turns over his left wrist. It turns out, he does have a tattoo. Set small and innocuous is the print of a Gray Wolf. Toboe feels his eyes fly wide. He looks up into Tsume's face. The man shrugs.  
"Do you recognize mine?" The words are soft, they could just be from one wolf enthusiast to another, a question about species, but as Toboe searches Tsume's face he knows they're deeper.  
"Yes." Toboe answers. He can't control the grin that breaks out over his face. The joy that rushes over him is uncontrollable and he surges forward, throwing his arms around the man. Tsume grunts, at the impact, but his arms come up, tentative against Toboe's back. Toboe manages to keep his wrist clear because it's still throbbing with heat and lingering pain. Tsume's arms tighten, draw Toboe in closer. Toboe draws in a deep breath and the scent is so familiar. Suddenly the world is tilting around him, swaying like ice cracking under his paws, but Tsume's there, holding him steady. Toboe know's that scent, it smells like home. Not flowers, or snow, or the decrepit cities, but running with his pack under starlit skies through rolling plains and wide dark forests. It's a world Toboe's never been to, something a little bit like paradise.  
"Did we make it?" Toboe asks. The fingers of his left hand clench into the ripped seam of Tsume's jacket, the back of his hand brushing against skin. Tsume's shoulders are shaking.  
"I don't know." His voice resonates against Toboe's chest. Toboe draws in another breath, unclenches his hand. He shifts back as he lets go. 

For a moment he thinks Tsume is going to reach out to follow him, instead his hand falls against Toboe's. His fingers curl around Toboe's wrist, just outside where the skin is raised and puffy red around the fresh tattoo.  
"You're here." Tsume says. Toboe nods. Something about the emotion in Tsume's voice makes Toboe feel anxious. It isn't happy. Toboe glances over at the far table. The tattoo artist is stoically ignoring them. "You're here." Tsume says again, the words filled with conviction. Toboe almost can't believe it himself.  
"I think this is the new world?" he's not remembering details, just the shape of things. Running, and danger, and eventually pain. "I think we fixed it?" Toboe hazards. Tsume's eyes are still searching, intense even when he's not glaring. There's no anger in him now. "Can I?" Toboe asks, reaching for Tsume's left arm. Tsume's wrist is too big to curl his own fingers against. Toboe presses down, like taking someone's pulse in gym class. His fingers cover the pawprint entirely. Tsume's heart beats under his hand.  
"Yeah. I think we fixed it." The words finally relax Tsume's shoulders, like by saying them he's finally letting something go. And then he smiles.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] Paw Print](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028394) by [knight_tracer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knight_tracer/pseuds/knight_tracer)




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